Dancing Through the Fire
by the moon of my life
Summary: Illyrio regarded Jon carefully before giving him an enigmatic smile. "Have you ever been to a Dothraki wedding?" / au where instead of joining the Night's Watch, Jon Snow ends up becoming a trusted companion of Daenerys Stormborn.
1. Chapter 1

**Another Jon/Dany fic! I'm reading CloudyDream's fic **_**Far away**_ **and it inspired me to write this story. Anyways, enjoy :)**

**Disclaimer****: I don't own **_**ASOIAF**_

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**Chapter One**

The soft rocking of the ship should have lulled Jon Snow to sleep, but he could only lay awake in anticipation.

They would reach Pentos in a day or two if the waters were good. Jon couldn't help but grin. Months had passed since they sailed to the Free Cities from White Harbor, but his adventure would begin as soon as he set foot ashore the port city of Pentos.

His family had been shocked when he expressed his desire to explore the Free Cities, his father the most. Lady Catelyn had looked relieved that he would be leaving while Theon taunted that Jon was probably looking for his mother in Lys. Jon had given him a black eye for that.

Robb made him promise to return with many stories to share. Bran the same. Arya had wanted to join him, but Jon knew he couldn't take care of himself, his direwolf, and a nine year old girl. Instead, he asked Mikken to craft a small, slender sword for Arya. Rickon cried and begged him not to go, but with a promise of gifts and returning for his nameday, he settled down and continued playing with Shaggydog.

Sansa surprised Jon the most.

She had been chatting with Jeyne Poole when he had come to her room. When he announced he was leaving Winterfell, Sansa looked disappointed. The two hadn't been close, never having the same relationship he had with Arya, but Sansa said that she would miss him terribly. Jon wondered if she truly meant that, but he liked to think that she did.

Before he left, his lord father had finally told him about his mother.

"Your mother wanted me to give you something when you were of age. I'm not sure if you are even ready _now _but... you are leaving and becoming a man so I suppose it is."

They had been walking down into the crypts of Winterfell. Jon smiled, remembering the time when he had pretended to be a ghost and scared Sansa while Arya had punched him and Robb in the stomachs.

At the lowest level of the crypts, his father moved his torch to see each sword. Finally, stopping in front of the more ancient Starks did he pick up a greatsword and unsheathe it. Jon stared at it in awe. The blade was as pale as milkglass and just as sharp as Valyrian steel.

"The blade is named Dawn," his father told him. "Your uncle was the sword's last bearer."

"My uncle?" Jon repeated, confused until the realization hit him harder than the blow Robb gave him with a tourney sword. "Are you saying that Ser Arthur _Dayne _is my uncle?"

When he nodded, Jon could feel his heartbeat quicken, pounding so hard that he wondered if the ghosts down here could hear him.

"She told me that Ser Arthur wished to give you the sword, even though you were just a babe. She said you were the new Sword of the Morning," his father explained then sheathed the sword. "Your mother, I mean."

"Ashara Dayne."

There had been whispers, speculations as to who Jon's mother was. Some said she was a wet nurse named Wylla, but most whispered about Ashara Dayne. Jon knew that she jumped from the top of one of the towers of Starfall because she was filled with grief.

For a moment, with the light illuminating from the flames of the torch, Jon could see a pained expression on his father's face. It vanished just as quickly as it came, replaced with the impassive look his father usually had.

Sometimes at night, Jon would lay awake imagining her face and form. Did the loss of her brother affect her so much? Or did his father break her heart by marrying Catelyn Tully? He would ponder how his life would have been if he lived in Starfall, his last name Sand instead of Snow.

Jon realized that thinking about his mother and Winterfell only held him back. His adventures would never be satisfying if he kept thinking about his dead mother or Robb or Arya. He would see them again eventually, but for now, he needed to focus on his new life. _I will not be Ned Stark's bastard anymore, _thought Jon, _I will make a new name for myself_.

Perhaps the Sword of the Morning.

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**A/N: **Jon left to the Free Cities the same month they found the direwolves which is awhile before Robert and his party arrives to Winterfell. Thanks for reading! **ALSO: **When Ned went to return Arthur's bones and his sword, Ashara told him to keep the sword because before Arthur went to the Tower of Joy, he said goodbye to Ashara and promised her that his sword would belong to his unborn nephew.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Nervous?" asked Zoran, a Tyroshi sailor with the brightest hair Jon had ever seen. "What about you, Tarly?"

The fat boy's eyes widened. It was no secret that he was afraid of the sailors with their uncouth manners, brightly dyed hair, and bloodthirst. Jon was already used to men like them back in the North.

"No need to answer, we can see it on your face!" laughed Andrei. He had a booming voice, but not as loud as the captain.

"Don't worry, Sam. I'm sure Pentos is not as frightening as back home," Jon offered, trying to ease his friend's nerves.

"I hope so," sighed Samwell Tarly, his face curdled like sour milk.

It had been a coincidence that Jon met Samwell at all. He had been in White Harbor, waiting for the ship Lord Manderly found him, the _Black Pearl_, when he found a very fat boy, with a moon-shaped face, pale eyes, and dark hair wandering around aimlessly. It was odd and from his clothes, Jon could tell he was someone of high birth.

After getting him to talk to Jon (he had been frightened at the sight of Ghost), he revealed himself to be Lord Randyll Tarly's son. Sam explained why he was in White Harbor, and Jon found himself pitying the fat boy. He suggested that Sam join him on his journey instead of taking the black, and Sam readily agreed.

Except Sam hid in his rooms most of the time, only coming out when it was time for supper or if Jon encouraged him to come out on the deck. Jon wasn't sure if he could stand being around a self-proclaimed coward, but he thought better of it. Sam was a nice person, an outcast like him.

_Us outcasts must stay together, _thought Jon. He bent down to scratch behind Ghost's ears.

Jon felt almost giddy with excitement when the _Black Pearl _anchored and the captain said it was alright for everyone to go ashore. Contemplating whether to leave Ghost on the ship, he decided to bring him along as he and Sam explored the bustling, crowded city.

**.**

Weeks had passed since the arrival of two Westerosi, and Illyrio Mopatis was ready to put them to use.

His "spiders" watched their every move, informing him of every detail, even the mundane ones. Only, these Westerosi were not in the slightest ordinary. One was the bastard of Lord Eddard Stark, a prominent figure during Robert's Rebellion, and the other was a the first son of one of the finest battle commanders in Westeros.

The wedding was three days from now, and the magister was ready to bring up their presence to exiled royals. Especially now with the new information he learned. _That spider will be eating heartily tonight_, thought Illyrio as he stroked his forked beard.

"I have found some new companions for you, Your Grace," spoke the magister one night during supper.

"Oh? Another exiled knight?" said Viserys, his mood black. Ser Jorah Mormont ignored the stab by filling his mouth with a piece of honeyed chicken.

"A bastard with the potential to be a squire and a rather studious boy who could act as your scribe," Illyrio replied evenly. "The bastard's named Jon Snow, his father Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. The other is Samwell Tarly."

Viserys paused. When he turned to Illyrio, his eyes were wild. "You have the _audacity_ to suggest that the Bastard of Winterfellbecome _my _squire? Have you forgotten who you speak to, magister!"

"Not at all," Magister Illyrio responded, calmer than the sky on a clear day. "Jon Snow is not only half Stark, but half Dayne as well. You must remember his mother, the lovely Ashara Dayne. She served as a lady-in-waiting for your goodsister Elia of Dorne. His uncle was part of the Kingsguard, forever faithful to your brother."

The Beggar King was seething, but seemed to be contemplating his words. Illyrio suppressed a smile, already knowing Viserys's objections. "_His aunt was kidnapped by my brother!" _"_His father is one of the Usurper's dogs_".

"He also carries his uncle's sword. _Dawn_," added Magister Illyrio. "Might I also add that Samwell Tarly's father was the only one to defeat the Usurper's forces."

It was silent, and everyone waited for Viserys's response, even meek Daenerys.

"Fine," grumbled Viserys. "If he shows any signs of loyalty to his traitor father than I will wake the dragon!"

"I will be sure to warn him," Illyrio said, still smiling inwardly.

Now all he needed to do was convince Ned Stark's bastard to become a squire for the exiled knight.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The Magister's manse was not hard to miss.

During the weeks Jon stayed in Pentos, he heard of the magister. Illyrio Mopatis was one of the wealthiest people in the city, a dealer in spices, gemstones, dragonbone, and other things.

He and Sam were waiting in the cool of the entry hall. Sam stood nervously, fiddling with his hands while Jon sat on the edge of the pool with Ghost at his feet. A eunuch had approached them earlier that day, saying that his master wished to treat with them. Sam hadn't wanted to go, but Jon felt restless and wondered if the man was offering him a job. That would give him something to do.

"I must say," started a voice in Pentoshi. Luckily, Jon was a quick learner and could understand what was being said. Speaking it on the other hand was a whole other matter. "I nearly mistook you for Lord Stark."

Magister Illyrio moved with surprising delicacy for such a massive man. Beneath loose garments of flame-colored silk, rolls of fat jiggled as he walked. Gemstones glittered on every finger, and his forked beard had been oiled until it shone like real gold.

Jon unconsciously touched the hilt of his sword. The magister revealed a thin row of crooked yellow teeth through the gold of his beard. Jon dropped his hand, refusing to amuse this man further.

"What do you want from us, magister?" questioned Jon, standing at once.

"I heard you have been wandering the city of Pentos, no destination in particular," commented Illyrio, in the Common Tongue. "And boys grow restless when they stay in one place for a time. I would know."

_I am no boy_, thought Jon. He was nearly fifteen, a man grown.

"And you -" the fat man turned to Sam who flinched from being addressed. "- I know you are more educated than half of Westeros. You should put your skills to use." His pig's eyes went to Jon's sword, _Dawn_. "You as well, Jon Snow."

"What are you talking about?" Jon asked, confused.

Illyrio regarded both Jon carefully before giving him an enigmatic smile. "Have you ever been to a Dothraki wedding?"

**.**

They met their knight an hour afterwards.

Much to Jon's surprise, the knight was Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island. He never formally met him, but knew _of _him. His father hated the man for participating in the slave trade and wished to execute him. Mormont fled to Lys, too craven to take the black or be executed. It had been a scandal back in the North, and now Jon had no idea whether to condemn the man for running or pretend he had not heard of him.

Ser Jorah's swarthy face was etched in a scowl when he laid eyes on Jon. He knew he had more of the Stark look than his siblings, but he didn't realize that he resembled his father so well that others would mistake him for the lord.

"You wish to make _him _my squire?" he heard Ser Jorah say to the magister. "His father wants my head."

"I have no contact with my father," Jon said, catching Mormont and Illyrio's attention. "I left the North behind the moment I sailed away from White Harbor."

The older man marched over to him, scrutinizing him from head to two, his dark eyes falling on _Dawn_.

"I met your mother once," Ser Jorah said, almost conversationally. "She left little of herself in you."

Jon could feel Sam's pale eyes on him. He had confided in his friend of his true parentage. Even with the knowledge of knowing who she was, Ashara Dayne was still a mystery Jon was trying to figure out. The only thing he knew were the things others knew: that she was reputed to be the most beautiful woman in the world, that she was sister to the Sword of the Morning, and she was lady-in-waiting to Elia Martell.

He didn't think learning his mother's name would be more difficult to live with than _not _knowing her name.

Ser Jorah glanced back at the massive man before returning his focus to Jon. "You shall be my squire," he declared, sounding both amused and smug. "If you survive this journey we are about to venture, I shall knight you myself. Betray me, and I will not hesitate to kill you. Understood?"

"Understood," Jon echoed, regretting his decision to accept Illyrio's offer. "What of my friend?"

"Your friend shall be His Grace's scribe," replied Magister Illyrio. He smiled at Sam. "Do you have any objections, boy?"

"No-none at a-all," Samwell stammered, his skin paler than normal.

"Good. Ser Jorah, I'll leave you to explain the rest." The massive man glided into another archway, disappearing.

Mormont gestured for Jon and Sam to follow him. They exited through the main gatehouse, heading to the markets. The sun was slowly setting as they walked past the emptying markets.

"You've heard of the Targaryens," stated Ser Jorah.

"Everyone has," snorted Sam.

"Yes, well, the remaining Targaryen royals have been struggling to survive in the Free Cities. The girl, Daenerys, is getting married to a Dothraki horselord tomorrow. We are here to buy wedding gifts."

As they browsed the stands, Ser Jorah explained what occurred at a Dothraki wedding. "The Dothraki mate like animals in their herds. There is no privacy in a _khalasar_," he said then chuckled from the look on Sam's face. Sam's face curdled even more when Mormont mentioned that it is normal to see a fight breakout during the wedding. "A Dothraki wedding without at least three deaths is deemed a dull affair."

They stopped at a jewelry stand. Jon scarcely spent his money, only spending it when necessary. Sam had no money so Jon was forced to buy food for the both of them.

He did not know this girl. He knew Sansa would love jewelry as a wedding gift while Arya would prefer a sword. Jon was still thinking if jewelry would be a good option when Sam lifted a simple ruby gemstone hung on a silver chain.

"Do you think she'll like this?" Sam asked Mormont.

The large man shrugged. "Most girls like jewelry. Pay and let's return to Illyrio's manse."

Jon had the merchant place the necklace in a box, the inside satin while the outside felt like velvet. Hopefully Daenerys was not like Arya and would like his gift.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The wedding took place in a field beyond the walls of Pentos, for the Dothraki believed that all things of importance in a man's life must be done beneath the open sky.

The ceremony began at dawn and continued until dusk, an endless day of drinking and feasting and fighting. Men and women alike wore painted vests over bare chests and horsehair leggings cinched by bronze medallion belts, and warriors greased their long braids with fat from rendering pigs.

They gorged themselves on horseflesh roasted with honey and peppers, drank themselves blind on fermented mare's milk and Illyrio's fine wines, and spat jests at each other across the fires, their voices harsh and alien.

Jon, Samwell, Ser Jorah, and Viserys Targaryen stuck out like sore thumbs amongst them. The Dothraki eyed his direwolf warily, but Illyrio somehow convinced them that Ghost would not harm them unless Jon commanded it.

He sat between Ser Jorah and Sam, with the former next to Illyrio and Viserys. Theirs was a place of high honor, just below the khal's own bloodriders. Jon was surprised when they allowed a bastard to sit amongst them. The bride and her new husband were above them, sending the food they refused to everyone else.

Daenerys Targaryen was, without a doubt, breathtakingly beautiful.

Never in his life had Jon had seen a sight so lovely. Did his mother behold that level of beauty? The only thing marring her beauty was the painful smile she wore on her face. Her false smile poorly concealed how frightened she truly was, and from the size of Khal Drogo, Jon felt sorry for her.

The sun was only a quarter up the sky when Jon saw the first of many die. Drums were beating as some women danced for the khal. Jon nursed her cup of summerwine, dazed as he watched. The warriors were watching too. One of them finally stepped into the circle, grabbed a dancer by the arm, pushed her to the ground, and mounted her right there.

At the same time, he and Sam looked away from the coupling, their faces flushed. Jon knew of coupling, he had seen a stallion mount a mare before, but he still found it uncomfortable to watch. He forced himself to talk to Sam, trying to ignore the sounds of death.

When at last the sun was low in the sky, Khal Drogo clapped his hands together. The drums and the shouting and the feasting came to a sudden halt. Drogo stood and pulled Daenerys to her feet, looking absolutely tiny next to him.

Viserys gifted her with three new handmaidens. Jon knew they had cost him nothing thanks to Ser Jorah informing him that Illyrio provided the girls. Irri and Jhiqui were copper-skinned Dothraki with black hair and almond shaped eyes, and Doreah a fair-skinned, blue-eyed Lysene girl.

"These are no common servants, sweet sister," the gaunt man told his sister as they were brought forward one by one. "Illyrio and I selected them personally. Irri will teach you riding, Jhiqui the Dothraki tongue, and Doreah will instruct you in the womanly arts of love." He smiled thinly. "She's very good, Illyrio and I can both swear to it."

Jon wanted to gag from utter repulsion.

Ser Jorah Mormont apologized for his gift, sounding kinder than Jon ever heard him. "It is a small thing, my princess, but all a poor exile could afford," he said as he laid a small stack of old books before her. She gave the first genuine smile Jon had seen.

Standing up, Jon took the box from Sam's hands and opened it in front of her. "We were not sure what to get you, but we thought you would like this."

Daenerys lifted the necklace, examining it. The ruby glittered each time it moved. "It's perfect," she whispered then unclasped it with trembling hands.

Without a thought, Jon took the necklace and stood behind her, clasping it around her neck, his fingertips touching her warm skin briefly. When he walked back in front of her, she had a flummoxed expression on her face. She mumbled a thank you. Jon nodded before sitting down.

Magister Illyrio murmured a command, and four burly slaves hurried forward, bearing between them a cedar chest bound in bronze. Jon and Sam glanced at each other as Daenerys stared at what was inside the chest before lifting one delicately for everyone to see. He heard Sam gasp beside him

The huge egg she held with two hands was covered in tiny scales, and as she turned it between her fingers, it shimmered like polished metal in the light of the setting sun. "Dragon eggs," Sam murmured, awe coloring his voice.

Sam guessed correctly as Magister Illyrio explained to Daenerys that they dragon eggs from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai.

The khal's bloodriders offered her the three weapons traditional of Dothraki: a great leather whip with a silver handle, a magnificent _arakh _chased in gold, and a double-curved dragonbone bow the same height as Jon himself. Daenerys said something in Dothraki, her voice soft and unsure.

More gifts were given and Jon continued drinking his summerwine, refilling twice by the time Khal Drogo brought forward his own gift. He led a horse to Daenerys, a young filly, spirited and splendid. She was grey as winter, with a mane like silver smoke. _Arya would love a filly like that_, Jon thought. His heart grew heavy at the thought of his sister.

The young bride was lifted by the waist and placed on the filly. Jon could see her whispering something, appearing nervous, but then the filly started to trot forward before sprinting. Much to Jon's shock, Daenerys made her horse leap the flames of the firepit.

The last sliver of sun vanished behind the high walls of Pentos to the west just then. Jon watched as Daenerys and Khal Drogo rode off somewhere, presumably to do the bedding part of the wedding.

One of Daenerys's new handmaidens, Doreah, approached him. She was older than him by a few years, with sky blue eyes and long, honey blonde hair. Jon stood up straighter, ignoring the quickening of his pulse.

"Everyone has been admiring your sword," she said when she finally reached him. "They wonder how a sunset boy like you can acquire such a splendid sword."

"Do you wish to see it?" Jon heard himself ask. He hoped his voice didn't slur.

"I would." Her eyes widened when Jon unsheathed _Dawn_, the pale as milkglass blade gleaming in the moonlight. "It's beautiful."

Jon sheathed it before any Dothraki wished to fight him. Doreah asked him more questions until finally she pressed her body against his and whispered sweet vulgarities in his ear. If he had been drunker, he would have taken her up on her offer, but then he remembered that a handful of men killed each other over a woman and the winner didn't even mount the one they had been fighting over.

Separating himself from the girl, Jon headed back to his seat, noticing that Sam had picked up one of the books Ser Jorah had given Daenerys, using the flames of the firepit as light.

"I've only been to one wedding and it was not as exciting as this one," Jon commented as he sat down next to Sam. Ghost followed him, silent as a shadow.

"I thought I was going to vomit all of my horseflesh when one of them gutted that man earlier," Sam moaned, his face white. "What did we agree to, Jon? How will we ever survive amongst these... these _people_! This might be worse than the Wall."

"No, it isn't," Jon assured him. "We're seeing the world, learning different cultures. At the Wall, you have to fight wildlings. Here, all you have to do is read and write."

Sam sighed, burying his face in his hands after saving the page of the book. "I suppose you're right," he replied, his voice muffled.

Jon hoped he was right.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Adjusting to the lifestyle of the Dothraki hadn't been too difficult. When he wasn't sparring with Robb in the yard, Jon was riding his gelding. He would ride with Arya and was ashamed to admit that his little sister nearly bested him each time they raced.

Sam and Viserys still struggled with the short stirrups and flat saddle. His fat friend would whine and complain, but in the end, he would continue to ride while Viserys's mood grew more black.

Jon didn't like the silver-haired prince ("king" he would call himself, and snap at anyone who didn't refer to him as such). Ser Jorah seemed to notice Jon's dislike for the man and no longer acted cold towards him. Well, he was still brusque, but more friendly around Jon.

Khal Drogo seemed to like Jon as well. He had approached Jon one day during their travels, speaking in the harsh language he was still trying to understand. Jhiqui, a handmaiden of Daenerys, was there and translated for him: Khal Drogo had challenged him a race, observing how fast Jon rode his horse. Jon agreed and lost tremendously to the towering horselord, but the _khal_ merely laughed and slapped Jon on the back.

The _khaleesi _still hadn't warmed up to him. She preferred the company of Ser Jorah and her handmaidens. "Watch over her, protect her from her brother," instructed Magister Illyrio. Jon had attempted a conversation with her, but she balked and retreated away from him.

So when Daenerys tentatively approached him one morning, Jon was more than surprised.

"We need your help, Jon Snow," she said, meeting his eyes briefly before dropping her gaze to the floor.

"Is it your brother?" Jon questioned, sheathing his sword. He had been polishing the lovely blade when she found him.

"What? No." Daenerys looked startled at the question. "Doreah is teaching me new... techniques and she needs assistance. Will you help us?"

_Then why didn't you send her? _Jon wondered, but he shrugged and followed the petite girl to her tent. Sam gave him a look of bewilderment as they passed him, and Jon had to agree it looked strange the two of them. Except it could not have looked more strange than Daenerys, a girl with skin as white as alabaster, standing next to Khal Drogo, a deeply tanned Dothraki.

Doreah smiled coquettishly when Jon entered the _khaleesi_'s tent. His hands became clammy. She had been flirting with him constantly since the wedding and Jon refused her every time, but his rejections became weaker the more she came to him.

Standing stiffly, Jon asked, "What do you need my assistance with, _khaleesi_?"

Daenerys blushed and refused to meet his stare. "As you know, Doreah instructs me in the womanly arts of love. I desire to prove myself worthy of my husband. As I told you before, Doreah is teaching me new techniques and she wishes to use an example."

"Oh." Jon didn't know what to say. He couldn't really comprehend what she was asking of him.

"Are you maid, sunset boy?" inquired Doreah. Now it was Jon's turn to blush. When he didn't answer, Doreah merely smiled. "That's fine if you are. Just lay down on the furs."

He glanced at Daenerys. She nodded and gestured for him to go. Swallowing thickly, Jon obliged and laid down rigidly on the furs. Doreah promptly straddled him, and leaned down to kiss him on the mouth.

She tasted like mint, and Jon's head spun from how surreal this was. His hands found her shoulders and he pushed her away.

"Watch carefully, _khaleesi_." Doreah rolled her hips, pushing into his groin. A strangled noise escaped the back of Jon's throat, and he could feel the blood rush down to his cock. "See how he likes it?"

Jon suppressed a groan, wishing she'd stop but he was tempted to buck his hips to match her rhythm. Doreah let out a gasp and she looked down at Jon, smirking. She slid her fingers down his chest and reached for his manhood, giving it a light squeeze before climbing off him. He nearly forgotten Daenerys, and when he looked at her, her face was flushed red.

_My face is probably as red as the Tullys' hair_, thought Jon, feeling embarrassed.

"Will that be all?" he asked tersely.

"Yes, that will be all," the small girl said then smiled coyly. "Gratitude, Jon Snow."

Their gaze lasted longer before Jon nodded and exited the tent.

Later that evening, Jon could hear her cries of pleasure from the other side of the camp.

* * *

**A/N: **Yes, this chapter is short and I'm sorry about that. School has started again, so I won't be updating as frequently. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_He's fast, _observed Dany, watching as Jon Snow raced against Khal Drogo and his bloodriders on his rich brown mare.

Ser Jorah's squire seemed so out of place amongst the Dothraki. His features and accent were too Westerosi. "He has more of the north in him," Ser Jorah told her when she had asked about his family. "His mother was Dornish of the stony type, but I can assure you, Princess Daenerys, that his mother left little of herself in him."

Her brother hated him.

Viserys trusted Magister Illyrio, but was still wary about the newcomers. Samwell Tarly seemed sweet, always reading and a little shy, so Viserys did not care for him. Jon Snow on the other hand, he trusted him as far as he could throw him. Dany could recall the envious glint in her brother's eyes when Jon sheathed his greatsword _Dawn_ for the first time in front of them. It was a beautiful blade and Viserys had raged in private to her how a "bastard" could acquire such sword.

There was also jealousy when it came to her husband. Viserys vied for Khal Drogo's friendship, but he refused to speak the "foul language" and was seen as an annoyance to the khal's _khalaser_. Jon Snow had won Khal Drogo's friendship effortlessly.

Dany found herself reluctant to initiate a conversation with the bastard. His father was one of the Usurper's dogs. How could she befriend the son of someone responsible for her father's fall? He seemed aloof as well, his face void of emotion. The only time Dany saw emotion on his face was when Doreah demonstrated how to ride a man.

Could she possibly form a friendship with him? _I might as well, _Dany ceded. He would be traveling with her, so she supposed it ought to be the practical thing to do.

Spurring her silver, Dany moved towards the men.

With the lessons she learned from Jhiqui, she understood perfectly well what they were saying as she approached them. Qotho leered at her, and his ogling sent chills down her spine. He was the most sadistic of Khal Drogo's bloodriders, bruising Doreah and making Irri sob in the night.

"Moon of my life," greeted Khal Drogo. He lifted her from her silver and kissed her on the mouth with such desire it made Dany's toes curl.

"My sun-and-stars," whispered Dany when he broke away from her setting her down at the same time. They had grown closer since that night she rode him under the stars. She wasn't showing yet, but she knew her belly would swell with the son her husband sired on her.

"Sunset Boy almost bested me today," he told her, clasping Jon's shoulder. He winced from the grip, but merely smiled, or at least _tried _to. It was more of a grimace. "He would be nice to have in my _khalaser_, no?"

Jon's grey eyes met hers. _So solemn. Is it true that bastards grow up faster than other children? _Dany mused.

"Yes, he would make an excellent bloodrider," Dany said, releasing her gaze from Jon's. She was tempted to ask her husband about their departure to Vaes Dothrak, the only city of the Dothraki people, but Khal Drogo called for another race, with Jon the only one declining.

That left her and Jon alone.

Wiping a sweaty lock of hair out of his eyes, Jon looked bemused at Dany lingering there with him. She could feel heat rush to her cheeks, embarrassed. She realized how dim she seemed to him. Every time they were near each other, Dany would avoid any eye contact with him and balked each time he attempted a conversation with her.

"Oh." Dany took a small step back when the albino direwolf bounded over to her and sniffed her sandsilk trousers.

"He likes you," Jon said, sounding a little surprised himself.

"Will he bite my hand if I touch him?" she asked, tentatively reaching towards the wolf. The beast came up as high as her hips.

"Not with me here," he promised.

Dany scratched the white direwolf behind its ears. The red eyes watched her before licking her arm, the roughness alarming Dany into startled laughter. She was stunned to hear Jon chuckle.

"Will you escort me back to my tent?" she asked him.

Nodding, Jon helped Dany mount her silver. He was not as strong as her sun-and-stars or Ser Jorah, but he was undoubtedly stronger than Viserys, possessing a certain strength.

She allowed her silver to trot alongside Jon's mare. The sun was low in the sky as they moved through the tall grass. "Drogo enjoys you," Dany mentioned.

"It is an honor that the khal enjoys the company of a lowly bastard."

"Lowly bastard? You are the most highborn boy I have ever met."

Jon looked at her, perplexed.

"You read, you write, and you fight like a noble knight. Lowly would not be the word I would use to describe you," Dany explained. She stared at him from behind her thick lashes, and smiled. "Have you forgotten who your parents are?"

"No," he acknowledged then frowned. "But does it matter who they are? Lord Stark fathered three trueborn sons, not four. And my mother threw herself into the sea, drowning in grief. I will always be a bastard, but I refuse for that to be my legacy."

Daenerys hadn't realized how much he despised being a baseborn child, but then again, she knew little to nothing about Jon Snow.


End file.
